He Lives On
by OMWG
Summary: Although so much has changed in the past seven years, Camille still has Logan. And that's what makes it alright. A one-shot based off of 'Little Hollow' by Miss Fenway. NO slash!


**OMWGNOTE: **Inspiration comes at any time during any given day. Falling on the more creative side of the population, artists and writers such as ourselves can be inspired by watching a movie, listening to a song or reading a book. It only takes one thing for a person to be inspired and turn this inspiration into their own creation.

I cannot even begin to explain to you how much the story 'Little Hollow' has inspired me. When suffering from Writer's Block on one of my stories, it was an update of 'Little Hollow' that made that Writer's Block evaporate into thin air. It was 'Little Hollow' that was the first story to ever bring me to tears. As I'm writing this author's note, I am literally crying because of all of the emotions this fantastic story has made me feel. I don't think I'm alone when I say that 'Little Hollow' is truly a masterpiece.

Seeing 'Little Hollow' finished makes me sad and happy at the same time. For one, I'm happy because it ended beautifully and I love it. I'm sad because I will never get another email saying "[FF New Chapter] Ch. _ of story, Little Hollow, by Miss Fenway." I think this might be the part that affects me most, besides the fact that I will have to find another story to make my emotions run wildly out of my control. 'Little Hollow' was a story that was so moving that I often found myself finding it hard to separate its world and reality. The emotions captured were so real that it sometimes physically hurt to read a chapter.

As I take the world of 'Little Hollow' (with Laura's permission) and manipulate it into what I want it to be, I can only hope that this one-shot based off of a story that rocked the Big Time Rush FanFiction archive does the characters justice. And before I write this disclaimer and you read this story, I would like to thank Laura for posting 'Little Hollow'. I know that I am not the only one who has been inspired by its brilliance.

The dedication of this story is pretty obvious; Laura, this is for you. I love you and 'Little Hollow'.

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Big Time Rush or any characters affiliated with the show. I also do not own 'Little Hollow' by Miss Fenway.

* * *

As Camille placed the final decoration on that year's Mitchell Family Christmas Tree, she smiled; Logan would be so excited to see the entire house decorated when he got home, which was exactly how Camille planned it. She loved it when he got excited, loved to see his big brown eyes sparkle whenever he talked about something he loved or got extremely excited about something. Camille lived for that sparkle.

She stepped back and placed her hands on her hips, admiring her handy work. The tree was decorated in all silver and gold ornaments, some of the orbs covered in glitter and some of them showing her a reflection of herself. There were white lights because, although Logan preferred colored ones, it went better with their annual silver and gold theme.

And besides, Camille had been taught growing up that colored lights were tacky.

Camille's smile broadened as she heard two car doors slam, the sound from outside easily heard from where Camille was currently standing. She situated herself on the couch, quickly turning the TV on and pretending that she hadn't just spent her entire morning and the better part of her afternoon decorating their entire house to make it look perfect.

Upon hearing the front door open, Camille forced her grin to fade and feigned interest in _Jerseylicious_, focusing all of her attention on the television and nothing that decorated the room.

"Camille," She heard James call out, drowning out the television for a moment with his voice. "We're back!" He was obviously preoccupying Logan in the foyer, the only part of the house Camille didn't touch with her Christmas spirit. This was because the foyer always had to be decorated the nicest, and that was a privilege she wanted to share with Logan.

Camille felt a small smirk form on her face, breaking through what was supposed to be her façade. She had forced James to take Logan around the town of Little Marais, doing everything he possibly could with Logan while Camille decorated the house.

"In here!" Camille called, giving James the go-ahead to bring Logan into the room.

She heard their footsteps as they made their way to the family room, one set light and graceful while the other set was loud and clumsy. She held back a laugh, knowing which footsteps belonged to who; Logan had always been tripping over anything, and James was very light on his feet.

Camille could also tell that it was Logan who stopped in the opening to the family room and James who kept walking, admiring everything quickly before dropping onto the couch next to Camille, waiting for Logan's reaction.

"Oh. My. _God_," He breathed, making his way over to the beautifully decorated and shining tree. James and Camille laughed at his reaction, watching as Logan turned and looked at the rest of the room. Camille caught his face then; his brown eyes shining with excitement, his black hair sticking up several directions, and his cheeks and nose flushed from the cold.

She laughed again as he smiled broadly, obviously spotting the tiny village Camille had made and put on the mantel of the fireplace. "You like it?" She asked, pushing herself off the couch and walking over to where Logan was standing.

He turned to her, beaming. "Yes!" He exclaimed. He walked forward to hug her, and was about to put his arms around her until he realized that he was still wearing his jacket. He then focused on unzipping it, his numb fingers fumbling with the cold metal of the zipper.

Camille slapped his hands away. "I wouldn't do that," She said. "We're leaving in a few seconds, and unless you want to turn into a snowman, I think you should keep the jacket on."

Logan immediately stopped fidgeting, smiling at Camille and sniffling a bit from his runny nose. "Where are we going?" He asked, excitement lacing his features.

"You'll know when we get there." She told him. "Now wait in here while I go get my coat, and then we can go, okay?" He nodded excitedly, sticking his hands in his pockets as he watched Camille leave the room.

Camille opened the closet door in the hallway, not even looking next to her when she felt a presence there. She knew who it would be.

"I wish he knew the importance of this day," James said, watching Camille as she slid her arm into her winter coat. "It would be so much easier."

Fumbling with the buttons on her coat, Camille asked, "Would it?" She fastened the last one into place. "Because I don't want Logan remembering him just by a date on the calendar; I want Logan remembering him every day of his life, not just this one. Now let's go." She picked up the flower she left on the hallway table and started making her way out the door.

James sighed. "Logan," He called. "Get your little butt out here, we're leaving!"

A few moments later, Logan appeared in the hallway, holding his rear. "My butt is not little," He said, walking past James and following Camille out the front door.

James laughed, shaking his head. "It definitely is," James told him, pulling the car keys out of his pocket and unlocking the car before shutting the front door behind them. He watched as Logan trudged through the snow, opening the door to the backseat and clambering in. Camille had already situated herself in the passenger's seat, twirling the flower in her gloved fingers and obviously cold. James quickly climbed into the car, slamming his door shut and putting his seatbelt on before putting the key into ignition and backing out of their driveway.

The minute the car had been started, Logan already began his complaints. "I'm cold," He whined, crossing his arms. Camille moved to turn the heat on, the warm air hitting all of their faces and feeling much nicer than the harsh wind outside. "Where are we going?" He asked again.

Camille laughed, turning around in her seat to face him. "I told you; you'll know when we get there."

"I don't like this game," He pouted.

"You don't have to," She told him, turning around in her seat and choosing to ignore Logan and his long string of complaints and protests.

As James continued driving, glad that he had four-wheel drive, his eyes darted from the road to Camille, back and forth every few minutes. "Are you okay?" He finally asked quietly, and Logan hadn't even realized that James had spoken, too busy with his own chatter.

Camille looked to James, his eyes on the road but a concerned expression in her face. She knew he had asked how she was doing because there were tears in her eyes, but Camille cried every time they went on this trip, and James asking her this same question was almost routine.

She responded anyway. "I'm fine," She said quietly, Logan still not taking notice to the fact that James and Camille weren't listening; his gaze was focused on the outside world, trained on the snow-covered rooftops and trees. "I just can't believe it's been seven years."

James shook his head, taking one gloved hand off the wheel to grab Camille's. "Neither can I," He admitted. He squeezed her hand. "But it's been seven years and he was right about one thing; everything is alright."

Camille nodded absently, her mind now focused on the fact that they were pulling into the cemetery. James stopped the car and pulled the key out of the ignition, both him and Camille waiting for Logan to notice where they were.

He did in a second.

His face lit up, and he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door before Camille and James even had the chance to get out of the car. But before Logan raced off, Camille grabbed his thin wrist, making him turn around and look up at her with impatient eyes.

"What?" He asked, looking back and forth between Camille and the headstones.

She handed him the flower. "It's a Christmas present," She told him. He nodded, wrapping his fingers around the stem and pulled his wrist away from Camille's grasp.

Logan sped away from Camille and James, who were following him at their own pace. He was clutching the flower tightly and running past various headstones until he found the one he knew so well, plopping himself down on the ground in front of his father's. He placed the flower he had been holding in his tiny hands at the base of it. "Merry Christmas, Daddy." He said quietly, adjusting the flower so that it lay perfectly underneath the dates of Logan's birthday and death day. Smiling, Little Logan continued to talk to his father in the only way he could.

"I'm turning seven in a few days," He told the headstone, smiling fondly at the picture of his father that was there. "Mommy said that we could visit you on my birthday, too, and on Christmas. But I hope she doesn't cry again, 'cause I don't like it when she cries."

At her son's words, Camille felt the tears spill over. She cried every time she visited Logan, but she always cried harder when Little Logan would talk to his headstone. It reminded Camille that Little Logan and Big Logan never had the chance to meet. She wished everyday that her husband could have lasted three more days to see the birth of their son, wished that Little Logan didn't have to grow up knowing his father only through pictures and memory recollections. She felt James pull her into a hug, and she looked up to see tears falling down James' cheeks as well.

"I wish you would come back, Daddy." Little Logan said, touching the picture of his father on the headstone. "That would be the best birthday present ever."

* * *

"You know I could die any day, right?" Logan asked weakly, grasping Camille's hand tightly as they lay down together. A little over a month ago, what started as a routine check-up for Logan turned into he and his wife's nightmare; his battle with acute myelogenous leukemia was not over.

When he was eighteen, he had won. He had beaten the cancer and was finally in remission, finally able to stop thinking about death and sadness and how his friends and Camille would live without him. But he always knew that there was a chance that the cancer would want a rematch, no matter how much he wished it would just accept defeat. His fears turned into reality when his oncologist told him that it was back.

It wasn't over. And Logan couldn't do a damn thing about it. He lay there helpless, pleading with whoever the hell was watching over him that he could take away the tears forming in Camille's eyes, take away the cancer and all of their worries.

But Logan had learned long ago that it wasn't that easy. That he couldn't just pray for something to go away and the next day it would magically be gone. Things didn't work like that.

Cancer didn't work like that.

Cancer ate away at your body, ate away at your family and your friends and your _hope_ until you had nothing left. Until you were left with only your prayers, and cancer ate away at those too until you were left with nothing.

It's almost like a video game, fighting with cancer. You get past all these tough obstacles until you're ready to face the boss, the cancer itself. In a video game, you fight and you press all the buttons on your controller like a madman, trying to save your pixelized character from an unfortunate death.

There are two outcomes of this battle: you win or you lose.

If you lose, the words '_Game Over' _flash across the screen, and you throw your controller down in frustration. You've lost the battle, you can't be revived. You can only go back and start from the beginning, start all over only to get to the same spot again and hope for a different outcome.

If you win, you're elated. You've defeated the boss and although it's only a game, it's temporarily the best feeling in the world. In the midst of your celebrating, you almost forget about the next level. You forget about how you go through all of the easy stuff again only to be faced with an even harder challenge at the end of the level.

And then you are faced with the same outcomes again.

But there are ways that video games and cancer differ: for starters, you can't put a pause on cancer. You can't just take a break from it because you want to do something else, or it got too hard. There is no '_save_' on cancer. There is only '_quit'._ You cannot save your progress and then play again. You either beat the game or you quit because you can't handle it anymore. There's no in between.

Video games represent fantasies, what you wish you could be doing in real life. Cancer is reality, something you only wish you could escape from. And if you do, the feeling is great. You feel like you're unstoppable, invincible, like nothing could ever touch you again. You survived _cancer_. You are a _badass_. You can't be _touched._

Sometimes the feeling lasts. Sometimes you get to live the rest of your life and not have to worry if today was your last day seeing the sun rise, talking to your friends, spending time with your significant other, eating dinner, watching television, breathing air, _living_. You don't have to be burdened with _cancer_ ever again.

And then there are those who have this care-free life torn out of their hands. Those who are told that, yes, they made it past the first level and they won. And then they are asked if they're ready for level two.

Logan didn't like level two. It was harder than level one, if possible. It made him tired and sick and worried that he might not live to see tomorrow, and he'd only been playing level two for a month.

"Don't say that, Logan." Camille said. "Don't you say that ever again, you hear me?"

Logan sighed. His wife was too optimistic sometimes. He pried apart their intertwined fingers, now wrapping them around her wrist. He held up her hand, spreading apart her fingers and touching the tip of each one softly. "You have to face the facts, Camille," He told her. "The time we have left could probably be counted on your fingers."

Camille had to hold back a sob. She couldn't lose him, couldn't live a day without him in it. "Stop," She whispered, pleading with him to avoid the subject she never wanted to bring up.

He didn't listen. Instead, he placed his hand on her round stomach, smiling at the nudge he felt under his hand. His smile faded quickly, though.

"I can't help but think I won't live to see the day that he's born," Logan said quietly. "Will you tell him about me?"

Camille didn't even try to hold back the sob that found its way out of her body. "I won't have to tell him about you," She told him. "You'll be here with him and you'll be an amazing father and he and I will both love you to pieces."

"I just hope I get to see what he looks like," Logan whispered, still not listening to her. "The ultrasound photos are dark and he looks more like a frog than a person."

Camille laughed, despite the fact that tears were making their appearance on her cheeks. "He's not a frog," She said playfully. "And you _will_ get to see him. He's due any day now." She placed her hand on top of his, the contrast of her small hand against his almost overwhelming.

"So am I," Logan said, staring at their hands. "I can feel it, Camille. I'm not going to last much longer."

She shook her head. "I'm not going to sit here and talk about your death with you, Logan. I can't be okay with it. You can't expect me to be okay with it."

Logan's gaze moved from their hands to her eyes, filled with tears and pain and love. He felt his own tears forming as he said, "I'm not asking you to be okay with it. I'm asking you to be strong when it happens."

"_If_ it happens," She reminded him shakily.

He only shook his head. "Camille, it's a 'when'."

She began to cry harder, wrapping her arms around herself. Logan sat up carefully, pulling his shaking wide in for a hug. "Please stop crying," He whispered into her hair. "I hate it when you cry."

"It's your fault," She mumbled. "You're talking about death and you expect me not to cry."

He just shook his head, pulling her closer. This is something he would miss, something he would have trouble letting go of.

Logan didn't want to give up. He didn't want '_Game Over'_ to flash across the screen. He wanted to live, wanted to see the birth of his son and send him for his first day of school and watch him graduate and get married and have children of his own. Logan didn't want to die at twenty-five; he wanted to die at ninety-five. He hardly found it fair that his life was going to be cut so short, that he was letting it be cut so short.

He reminded himself of his father, who gave up on his son when life got too hard.

Isn't that what Logan was doing right now? Giving up because his life had gotten too hard? He didn't want to be a quitter. He didn't want to be a failure of a father like his own father was. What would his son think of Logan if he knew? If he knew that Logan had willingly let cancer win?

He would probably hate Logan. More than Logan hated himself.

Logan felt himself glance at the clock: 11:53PM. Seven minutes away until a new day. If he lasted seven more minutes, maybe he would be okay with himself. Maybe he could even last until the birth of his son, see his face and let him know that he didn't mean to give up, he didn't _want_ to give up.

"Hey," Logan said quietly, and waited until Camille looked up at him to continue. "It's going to be alright. Just remember that I love you, and the baby, and Kendall and James and Carlos and everyone. You're all going to make it through, I promise." He whispered the last part, watching with tired eyes as Camille laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

He lay back, closing his eyes and willing for sleep to take him. But even as he felt the drowsiness kick in, his eyelids becoming heavier, he couldn't help but be afraid.

Sleep was the closest thing there was to death. What if Logan didn't wake up?

But the thought was pushed out of his mind as he quickly fell asleep, the numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand reading 11:55PM.

Camille herself felt as though she would never be able to fall asleep. Perhaps it was the insomnia that no one mentioned came with baring a child, but she felt like being pregnant had nothing to do with her lack of sleep. It was really her fear that was keeping her up, the same fear that plagued her every day since Logan's cancer had come back.

It was the same subject that she and Logan were talking about minutes before: Logan's death.

She watched as the clock changed to 11:56, counting Logan's heartbeats as they played in her ear, listening to Logan's steady breathing. It sounded like waves; the water pushing back and forth, back and forth, keeping a steady rhythm. In time with the beating of Logan's heart, it sounded like music.

Camille smiled, readjusting her head on her husband's chest. She lifted her head for one moment, and then her counting was messed up, the backbone of her beautiful music gone. Her smile faded, but the moment she laid her head on Logan's chest again, hearing the slow but true beat of his heart, she felt the smile make its way back onto her face.

She felt the baby boy inside her kick her stomach, and she placed her hand there. Camille and Logan had discussed many names for the little boy; things like John and Hollis and Eli. But Logan's favorite was Demetri, the name so unique and exciting to him.

So Demetri it was, then. Camille liked the name too, and, well, she didn't really want to argue with him.

But there was another name Camille liked more than Demetri, a name that, if Logan died before the death of their baby, she would name their son.

Should Logan die before the little boy is born, Demetri won't be forgotten; it will simply be moved to the boy's middle name.

Logan Demetri Mitchell. Camille liked that sound of that.

The clock changing time in her peripheral vision pulled her out of her thoughts; she turned to see that 11:59PM was displayed with a red glow, the soft light illuminating her face slightly.

It was what happened then that Camille knew she would never be able to forget.

As she lay on Logan's chest listening to the 'music' he was making, she noticed a change in tempo. How the steady beat began to get slower, softer, almost so soft that she could barely hear it even with her head pressed against his chest. How the rise and fall of Logan's chest that came with his breathing began to die down.

Camille felt her head rise as Logan took in a big inhale of oxygen, only to have it fall again with his exhale. She heard the _thump-thump_ sound of his heart, ever so softly resounding through his chest.

She waited for the next inhale, for the next _thump-thump_. She waited two seconds, five, ten. And after that, her mind caught up with reality.

She sat up quickly, looking at her husband's face.

Blank, no expression. No air going into his nose, coming out of his mouth. Completely still, unmoving.

"Logan?" She called out frantically, shaking his shoulder. Camille felt the tears making their way down her face again, falling onto Logan's unmoving chest.

She shook him again. "Logan, don't do this. Please, _please_, don't do this to me. Please wake up, you have to wake up!" She sobbed, shaking him for the third time.

No response. Just an all too still body, slowly losing its warmth.

Camille didn't want to cry. She told herself she wouldn't cry. But she couldn't stop. Just seven minutes ago she was talking to him. Just twenty seconds ago she was listening to the beating of his heart.

She lay her head on his chest again, the clock beside her changing to 12:00AM. Her music was gone, the water had stilled, and Logan wasn't there anymore. Even if she called 911 now, they would get here too late. He was dead; gone forever, never coming back.

As she sobbed into Logan's unmoving chest, missing her music, she reached over and put his too-cold hand on her stomach, where she could feel Little Logan kick at the presence of his father.

* * *

Camille felt more tears fall from her eyes as she thought of everything that happened after Logan's death. How Little Logan was born three days later, how James and Julie split up after James had briefly turned to drugs, how James had moved in with Camille to help with Little Logan once he was clean. It had been hard for the past seven years, but Camille knew that Logan wouldn't want her suffering. He would want her to be happy, raise their son and have a good time.

"I love you, Daddy." Little Logan said quietly. "I'll see you on my birthday!"

Camille turned to James then. "Do you mind taking Logan back to the car? I'll just be a few seconds."

James pulled back and nodded, wiping his tears away and replacing his frown with a smile. "Sure thing." He walked over to where Little Logan was sitting, picking him up from behind. "Someone's getting heavy," He laughed, feeling Little Logan squirm in his arms.

"Put me down!" The little boy screamed, giggling and trying to squirm his way out of James' hold.

James laughed again, slinging the struggling boy over his shoulder. "Not a chance, short stuff." He bent down for a moment, running his free hand across Logan's name. "See you later, Logan." He whispered, smiling sadly. And then he got back into playful James mode, standing up and placing Little Logan on the ground. The boy began to run away, back towards the car, and James did not hesitate to chase him back.

Camille smiled; James was great with Little Logan, always playing with him and being the father that Camille knew Logan would have been.

She turned to the headstone, dropping on her knees in front of the stone that marked where her husband was buried.

"Why you couldn't have waited three more days to die is beyond me," Camille told the stone. "I will never understand why you couldn't have waited until you met your son to die. He loves you so much, Logan. He doesn't even know you and he loves you with all his heart. And I know you love him, too. I just wish you could have met."

Camille took a deep breath before continuing. "He looks just like you," Her fingers brushed over the picture on the headstone. "It's a good thing I named him Logan, because he _is_ a Logan. He's smart and has the cutest smile and he's already the best in his class at math. I wish you could have been here to see him excel the way he is, the way he gets so excited when he talks about something he loves. I swear, he's your carbon copy."

She turned her head around to watch James chasing her son around the car, smiling through her tears. When she turned back to the stone, she said, "And James is great with him. So are Kendall and Carlos when they visit."

"And I know you would have been great with him too, Logan. I know you would have been the best father in the world. And I'm so sorry that you never got that opportunity."

She pressed two fingers to her lips, then brought the fingers to the cheek of the picture of Logan. "Love you," She whispered, then pushed herself up, brushing some of the snow off herself before walking off to join her family.

The Logan she had fallen in love with so many years ago wasn't with her anymore. But with his death came the birth of _their_ son, a boy who looked so much like his father that it hurt Camille every day to look at him. But he was like Logan in so many more ways, and Camille couldn't help but think that part of Big Logan lived in Little Logan.

And as much as she missed Big Logan, she still had Little Logan. And that was perfectly fine with her.

* * *

**OMWGNOTE: **I died several times while writing this. No, seriously. I did. My heart exploded and my brain and everything was the opposite of happy and I hate myself. I drowned in the Sea of Angst. It's dark and cold down here and I think I deserve it, which is why I didn't call on Carlos who totally could have saved me.

**EDIT:** I've gotten a few reviews that have asked me to continue with this story. I really think it's awesome that you all like it, but I will _not_ be doing anything else regarding 'He Lives On'. I think it's perfect just how it is and it's going to stay that way. Besides, I don't really feel comfortable doing an entire multi-chapter story spin-off of 'Little Hollow'. So I really do appreciate all of the reviews I've been getting, but this story is staying how it is. Sorry.


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